


Like a Glove

by owlmoose



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen, Holidays, Rivalry, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-24
Updated: 2011-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-27 23:55:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/301485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlmoose/pseuds/owlmoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke sets up a gift exchange among his friends, and Fenris draws the very last name he wanted to see.</p><p>Gift fic for the 2011 Secret Santa exchange on Tumblr. Gen with Anders/Fenris implications.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a Glove

"It's a Ferelden tradition," Hawke had explained as he ripped a sheet of paper from Varric's book, ignoring Varric's wince, then torn it into seven equal pieces. "For Feastday. We each draw a name from a hat, and you have to get that person a gift." Groans and winces had filled the room, and Hawke had responded with his most pleading look. "Please? The new place is so empty, and I know Mother's been wanting to cook for a crowd, and it's not nearly as much fun without the gifts. And it's the first Feastday since Bethany--"

Hawke rarely spoke of his sister, lost to the Wardens several months ago; it felt like blackmail, but it was also impossible to resist. And so they had all gathered in a circle around Hawke in Varric's suite as Hawke turned his helm upside-down and threw in the scraps of paper on which he had written the names.

"Me first," Isabela said; Hawke faced her and she reached into the helm, first rustling her hand around to mix the slips of paper and then pulling one out

"Keep it secret," Hawke said as she opened the sheet. "The surprise is part of the fun! Okay, now you, Anders." And so he worked his way around the circle, coming to Fenris second to last; Fenris plucked one of the three remaining slips and opened it, then folded it back up. It was not his own name, he was fairly certain, but otherwise he could only guess at what word the letters might spell. Varric chose, then Hawke took the last name for himself. "Oh good, it's not mine," he said. "So we're in the clear. One more drink before everyone goes shopping?"

Everyone but Varric followed Hawke downstairs, except Fenris . When he was convinced the others were out of earshot, he turned to Varric and held out the slip of paper. Varric took the slip without comment. He was the only person who knew Fenris's... not secret, exactly. He preferred to think of it as something private that he chose not to share. Varric studied the paper for a second, then grinned up at him. "Lucky you. It's Blondie."

Fenris tipped his head back with a groan. "Of course." The fates would curse him with having to find a gift for the mage. He cast a hopeful look at Varric. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to trade."

"Not a chance." Varric folded the paper into quarters. "I think it'll do you good. Force you to walk in Anders's shoes for a little while. So to speak," he added with a glance at Fenris's bare feet.

"Fine." Fenris snatched back the slip and tucked it in his belt. "I suppose I'll come up with something." And he stalked down the stairs for a suddenly much-needed drink.

-x-

But as the days passed, it became increasingly clear that he was not, in fact, going to come up with something. Fenris spent four afternoons wandering the market stalls of Hightown, Lowtown, and all the spaces in between. None of the trinkets seemed right, armor and weapons would be of no use, and he refused to purchase anything overtly involved in the practice of magic. Food seemed too fleeting to serve as a gift; he had thought of selecting one of the better bottles from his cellar, but Anders seemed perfectly happy to drink the swill served at the Hanged Man. Fenris hated to waste fine wine on someone who wouldn't appreciate it, and anything lesser would be beneath him to give. Finally, in desperation, he went to visit the person he held most to blame for putting him in this awkward position: Garrett Hawke.

"I cannot do this," he said, pacing the confines of Hawke's courtyard. "This... gift exchange. I barely know what I would want for myself; how am I supposed to guess what someone else would like? Especially--" He paused, remembering the initial request to keep the name secret, then shook his head, frustrated. "Especially _that mage_."

Hawke gave him a considering look. "Do you mean Anders? He can't be that difficult to shop for."

Fenris turned around with a glare, pulling out the square of paper, which he had forgotten to remove from his belt, and holding it out toward Hawke. "If you're willing to trade, just say the word."

"Hmm." Hawke looked at the slip with Anders's name on it, then shook his head, handing it back. "Sorry, I can't; I've already bought a gift for someone else. But I'm happy to give you some suggestions. Here, let's think this through." He sat down on the bench and gestured for Fenris to join him. "Now, what does Anders like?"

"Mages," Fenris replied promptly. "Freedom for mages, no controls on mages, talking about mages. I don't understand how the rest of you put up with it."

Hawke laughed. "He does talk about other things, Fenris. You should try listening more closely sometime." He leaned back, kicking his long legs out in front of him, lacing his hands behind his head. "Anders does a lot of research. Maybe you could get him a history book." Fenris shook his head sharply -- an item he was less qualified to select might exist, but he didn't want to think about what it might be. Hawke acknowledged the implied rejection with a nod. "He also likes shiny things. Rings, earrings, amulets. I've noticed him toying with them in the market. I guess something too flashy might not last long in Darktown, though. What else-- oh! Cats!"

Fenris's dark expression settled into a full-blown glower. "I am _not_ getting the abomination an _animal_."

"Oh, no, that would be a terrible idea," Hawke said. "If you think _jewelry_ might not last long in Darktown..." He stared into the distance for a moment, then shuddered. "No, definitely not. But you could get him something with a cat on it, maybe. Or something soft, or cute." He fell silent for a moment, then stood. "All right, I know the place we should try. Come on."

He led Fenris out of his courtyard and into the city, in the direction of the Blooming Rose. As Hawke continued toward the brothel, Fenris paused, glanced up at the banners. "You aren't suggesting..."

Hawke turned around, looked at him with raised eyebrows, then burst into a laugh. "No, but what an idea. I doubt you'd get him in the door, though. Not given how many of the staff come to him for medical assistance." He grinned, and Fenris rolled his eyes. "But no, we aren't going to the Rose, it's the shop next door. Here." Hawke indicated the door, then held it open for Fenris to walk through.

The smell hit him first, a warm, musty, comforting scent, carrying a sense of age, as though this same emporium had been here, unchanging, for generations. He stopped just past the door and looked around, his eyes unable to settle on any one thing -- bolts of cloth along the back wall, stacks of dishes on a table, rows of shirts and pants and jackets, piles of glittering chains and rings, a small armor stand in one corner, a stock of potions and crafting ingredients across the aisle. It was a cacophony of stuff, seemingly gathered from every part of the world, stocked in no particular order. Fenris had never seen anything quite like it, and he turned to Hawke. "What is this place?"

"Mayrim's General Store," Hawke replied. "Something for everyone. It's where I bought my gift, and-- well, you'll see." Hawke grinned, then swept his arm outward. "So, anything here say 'Anders' to you?"

Fenris wandered down the aisles, taking it all in, then landed at the jewelry case. Most everything there struck him as cheap and flashy, though, and so he drifted toward the next stack, which seemed to be mostly gloves and a few sets of gauntlets, including one particularly fine silverite pair inscribed with large birds-- hawks? No, eagles. But he was not here to shop for himself, and he dropped them back on the table with a guilty look up -- had Hawke noticed? No, he was engaged on the other side of the display, examining a deck of cards. Fenris went back to sorting through the pile; gloves, he thought, might serve: both attractive and practical, given how cold it was likely to get in that hovel the mage called a clinic. A particularly gaudy pair caught his eye, and he picked them up with a soft snort.

"What?" Hawke looked up, then bit his lip, forcing back a grin. "Oh. Oh no. You can't. It would be hilarious. But you can't."

"Why not?" Fenris arched a brow, smiling, holding up the gloves for Hawke's closer inspection. "You said it yourself -- he's fond of the beasts."

"I know. But really, Fenris, this is too much." Hawke took the gloves and turned them over. They were made of dark red cloth and had been embroidered with dozens of tiny cats -- cats playing, cats pouncing, cats eating, cats curled up asleep. "Gloves are a good idea, but not these."

"Oh, all right." Fenris took back the hideous cat-festooned gloves and set them down before picking up a fingerless pair, knitted of a dark grey yarn and so soft that they were almost fluffy. Warm, too, and not just because of the heavy material -- Fenris could feel heat coming off the fabric, and more careful attention revealed the snap of lyrium, probably spun into the yarn.

"A heating enchantment," he said, stroking the gloves; between the softness, the warmth, and the vibration from the lyrium, it was oddly like cradling a purring kitten in his hands. "And they're clearly well made. But not so clearly that the gloves' value will be apparent to passers-by. Yes. I think this is the right choice."

Hawke smiled at him. "Good call. All right, let's go buy them. I bet they can wrap them for you."

-x-

The shopkeeper had, indeed, wrapped the gloves in gift paper painted with silver and green, then tied the package with ribbon and tucked in a small blank card. Once Fenris returned home, he wrote "Anders" on the card, painstakingly copying the letters from the slip of paper he had saved, then followed it with his own name. The party was the next night; when he departed for Hawke's estate, a light snow was falling, and so he tucked the package under his arm to protect the delicate paper from the elements, muttering curses of Hawke and his brilliant ideas all the way. The door was open, and he went through the courtyard and into the foyer, where he was met by Hawke's new manservant.

"Welcome, messere," he said. "May I take your -- ah, I see, you aren't wearing a coat. Your gift, then; I'll place it with the others. Dinner is almost ready. Follow me." He ushered Fenris into the sitting room, which had been hung with fragrant boughs of pine, and then pointed him through another doorway into the similarly-decorated dining room, where everyone stood around a table groaning with food. Hawke was at the far end of the room, goblet in hand, chatting with Isabela. He turned to face Fenris, and smiled.

"Fenris! You made it." He raised his glass, then gestured toward the wine bottles on the bar. "Get yourself a drink, and we can get this party started."

It was, Fenris had to admit, a festive meal, with a large game bird as its centerpiece, accompanied by stewed root vegetables and plenty of hearty bread. Ferelden cuisine was far less fussy than Tevinter, he decided. Too heavy for everyday, but on a chill winter night, accompanied by a glass of warmed wine rich with spices, it did very well. Once everyone had eaten their fill, Hawke adjourned them to the sitting room, giving Leandra a place of honor on the center of the couch, everyone else settling around her. Fenris found a stool in the far corner and perched on it, glass of wine balanced between his fingers, and breathed in the scent of the greenery. More Ferelden tradition, no doubt. Hawke stood next to the gifts, piled together in on a table next to the fireplace, and looked around the room; once he had determined that everyone was settled, he raised his glass, drank it down, then set it on the mantel, rubbing his hands together with glee. "All right, let's get started! Here, a gift for Isabela!" He handed her a small package wrapped in silver paper, which she took eagerly.

"To Isabela, from Merrill," she said. She looked over to Merrill, who was sitting on the stairs to the mezzanine.

"Open it, please." Merrill gestured to her with a shy smile. "I do hope you like it."

Isabela tore the paper open as Aveline winced; she shot a grin in the Guard-Captain's direction, then turned her attention back to the small box. She lifted the lid and let out a soft gasp. "Oh, how lovely!" She held up a silver locket on a delicate chain, the lid popping open to reveal a small compass.

Merrill ducked her head. "You lost your ship, and I thought maybe you lost your compass, too. When you get a new one, you'll need to be able to find your way around the sea, and if your compass is around your neck, you can't lose it. I know I lose things when they aren't attached to me."

"It's beautiful, kitten. And thoughtful, too. Thank you." Isabela fastened the chain around her neck, then bounced up from her easy chair to kiss Merrill on the cheek. She sat back down next to her on the steps, and the exchange moved on -- Aveline receiving an Antivan adventure novel from Varric, Varric a bottle of bright blue ink and a matching peacock feather quill from Isabela -- and as the pile dwindled, Fenris began to get restless. Hawke seemed to notice, and he selected the green and silver package next. "Anders," he said.

Anders reached forward from his seat on the couch and took the gift. "From Fenris," he said, voice lifting in surprise. He stood and turned to face Fenris while he opened the package, his face lighting up at the sight of the gloves. "These... are lovely. So soft, and warm-- are they enchanted?"

Fenris thought he caught a faint note of astonishment in Anders's tone; he was tempted to snap back at the assumptions he read therein, but out of respect for Hawke and the celebratory atmosphere, he held back. "A warmth spell, I believe, yes. I doubt it would provide any aid in casting, but I thought it might be practical for your work in the clinic."

"Yes, absolutely." Anders pulled the glove onto his hands, then wiggled his fingers. "Cozy. And just the right size, too. Thank you, Fenris. A very thoughtful gift." He turned around and looked at Hawke. "I think--"

"I agree." Hawke picked up the largest of the remaining packages, wrapped in red cloth. "Fenris, this is for you."

Fenris walked the few steps across the room and took the package from Hawke. He looked down at the card affixed to the top; Varric stirred, but he waved the dwarf off with a discreet twitch of his fingers. There, beneath his own name, was the same word he had written so carefully just the day before, the pattern of letters now burned into his brain:

Anders

"It's from you," he said, looking up, meeting Anders's eyes; the mage nodded. Fenris pulled off the card, then unwrapped the red cloth to reveal a pair of silverite gauntlets, a near twin to the set he had so admired in the general store yesterday, down to the eagles etched delicately onto the backs.

"I hope--" Anders shrugged, the tip of his nose turning pink. "Well, your old ones were looking a little worn, these are of elven make, and I thought the eagle motif appropriate."

Fenris set the cloth aside and held the gauntlets up to the light. "They are exquisite." It hurt him to admit it, but it was true. These were, in fact, one of the finest gifts he had ever received, and he looked past Anders to Hawke with suspicion in his eyes.

Hawke only smiled back, innocence personified. "Try them on."

"They'll fit," Fenris said, "I'm certain." But he still removed his old gauntlets from his hands and slid the new ones on. The metal gleamed in the firelight as he turned his arm around and made a fist, the finger coverings moving with each joint. He turned to Anders with a small bow. "Perfect."

"Well. Good, then." Anders nodded; Fenris held his eyes for just a moment longer, then looked away; he did not want to feel any kinship with or liking for this apostate, and it felt odd to allow it, even for a moment.

The rest of the gifts were opened -- a set of small hand-carved wooden bowls for Merrill from Hawke, a new dog collar and a portable whetstone for Hawke from Aveline, and a sparkling necklace Hawke had purchased for Leandra, and then the party broke into smaller groups, chatting softly, drinking more wine, showing off gifts and exclaiming over them. Fenris took advantage of the moment to pull Hawke aside and into the foyer. "You," he grunted. "How much did you have to do with this?" He indicated the new gauntlets with a wriggle of his fingers.

"Very little, I assure you," Hawke said. "I did show Anders the store, the day before I took you there, but he picked out the gauntlets on his own. Just like you chose the gloves yourself." He nudged Fenris with his elbow. "You two are way more alike than either of you is willing to admit, if only you'd open your minds a little more."

"Hmph." Fenris crossed his arms. "I doubt that very much. Though I will admit he has good taste in armor."

Hawke grinned down at him. "Well, that's a start, anyway. Come on, let's get back to the party. If we ask nicely, I bet Mother will break out that new Orlesian brandy that Gamlen bought her." He brought an arm around Fenris's shoulders and steered him back toward the fireplace: warmth, companionship, and the light.


End file.
